The smoke over the ruins of Era had turned the sky a bruised purple. The headquarters of the Magic Council, once a beacon of absolute authority, was now a jagged crater filled with the groans of the dying and the frantic shouts of medics.
Soldiers from the Rune Knights secured the perimeter, their faces pale behind their visors. They were picking through the rubble of their own command structure. Stretchers moved in a constant stream, carrying bodies covered in white sheets—Lahar, Org, Gran Doma. The leadership of the magical world had been decapitated in a single, fiery breath.
Far away, in a location that existed outside the reach of sunlight, the architects of this destruction gathered.
The headquarters of Tartaros—the Cube—floated slowly through the air, cloaked in invisibility. Inside, the atmosphere was cold, sterile, and alien.
Kyôka, the Goddess of the Slave Planet, walked through the dimly lit halls. Her talons clicked against the metallic floor. She entered the main chamber where the other members of the Nine Demon Gates waited.
"Jackal has begun the festivities," Kyôka announced, her voice smooth and cruel. "The Council is no more."
Sitting on a block of ice, Silver Fullbuster—the Absolute Zero—smirked, though his eyes remained cold and distant. "He made a mess, as usual. Subtlety isn't in his vocabulary."
"Who cares for subtlety?" Ezel, a demon with tentacles for arms, scoffed. "We are the End! We are the books of Zeref come to life! Despair should be loud!"
Seilah, the Goddess of the Chill Moon, sat quietly reading a book. "It is for Master Zeref," she whispered. "To return to him, we must scour this world of the human plague. Their magic is... unsightly."
"The Council held the keys," Kyôka reminded them. "Jackal's mission was not just destruction. It was to flush out the information regarding Face. Once we have Face, magic will vanish from this continent. And then... we shall revive Master E.N.D."
Franmalth, the cyclops-like demon, chuckled. "Calculations... yes, calculations suggest resistance will be minimal. Except for the fairies. They are statistically annoying."
"Let them come," Silver stood up, the temperature in the room dropping ten degrees. "I have a grave to visit among them."
---
The 8-Island Restaurant was famous for its cloud-top views and Yajima's cooking. It was a sanctuary of peace.
Fried Justine, Bickslow, and Yajima sat at a table, the morning newspapers spread out between them. The headlines were screaming in bold black ink: COUNCIL DESTROYED. ERA IN RUINS. DEATH TOLL CLIMBS.
"This is madness," Yajima muttered, wiping his chef's hat nervously. "I haven't seen an attack this brazen since the guild wars."
"It says 'Tartaros'," Fried read, his long green hair falling over his face as he frowned. "The third pillar of the Balam Alliance. If they've made a move, it's total war."
"Laxus is going to be pissed," Bickslow commented, leaning back in his chair, his totems floating lazily around him. "He hates people messing with the order of things."
Evergreen walked over, placing a tray of tea on the table. "Speaking of Laxus, where is he? He said he was running an errand hours ago."
"He went to check on his grandfather's old contact near the town," Fried said. "He'll be back soon."
CRASH.
The entrance to the restaurant didn't open. It exploded inward.
A shockwave of wind pressure blasted through the establishment, shattering windows and overturning tables. Customers screamed, scrambling for cover.
Fried, Bickslow, and Evergreen were launched backward, crashing into the far wall.
"What the—?!" Bickslow gasped, struggling to stand.
Standing in the doorway was a hooded figure. He wore a cloak that billowed in a wind that didn't exist outside. He walked forward, his steps heavy.
"I am looking for a Council member," the figure droned. His voice was deep, devoid of humanity. "Yajima."
Yajima stood up, trembling but defiant. "I am Yajima. Who asks?"
The figure raised a hand. A vortex of wind gathered in his palm.
"Tartaros. Gate of the Underworld. Tempester."
"Evergreen! Stone Eyes!" Fried shouted.
Evergreen ripped off her glasses, trying to petrify the intruder.
Tempester didn't even look at her. "Boring."
He waved his hand. A localized tornado struck the Thunder God Tribe, slamming them into the ceiling and pinning them there with crushing air pressure. They couldn't move. They couldn't breathe.
Tempester turned his attention to the small, elderly chef.
"Die."
He unleashed a blade of wind aimed directly at Yajima's neck.
KRA-KOOM.
A bolt of yellow lightning intercepted the wind blade, shattering it into harmless breeze.
The air in the restaurant instantly smelled of ozone.
Standing in front of Yajima, coat draped over his shoulders, electricity crackling around his fists, was Laxus Dreyar.
"You've got some nerve," Laxus growled, his eyes glowing white. "Interrupting my lunch break."
"Laxus!" Fried gasped, falling to the floor as the pressure released.
Tempester tilted his head. "Dragon Slayer. An obstacle."
He threw off his cloak, revealing a beast-like, muscular form with dark skin and wild hair. "I am Immortal. I am the storm."
"You're just wind," Laxus retorted. He vanished in a blur of speed.
He appeared directly in front of Tempester.
"Lightning Dragon's... JAW!"
He smashed his fists down on Tempester's head. The demon was driven into the floor, cracking the foundation of the floating island.
Tempester recovered instantly, spinning with a cyclone kick. Laxus blocked it with his forearm, sliding back a few inches.
"Not bad," Laxus smirked. "But I've been sparring with a monster named Blake. Compared to his punches, yours feel like a massage."
Laxus escalated. He didn't give Tempester room to breathe. He unleashed a barrage of red and yellow lightning, overwhelming the demon with sheer destructive output.
"Raging Bolt!"
A massive pillar of lightning descended, engulfing Tempester. The demon screamed as his body was scorched.
Tempester fell to his knees, smoke rising from his skin. He looked up at Laxus with hatred.
"I cannot... lose to a human."
"You already did," Laxus said, charging a final sphere of electricity. "Stay down."
Tempester smiled. A distorted, twisted smile.
"If I cannot win... I will take the air."
His body began to bulge. His veins turned black.
"Magical Barrier Particles... RELEASE!"
Tempester's body dissolved. He didn't die in a normal sense; he detonated into a massive cloud of black, choking mist.
"Poison?!" Yajima coughed, covering his mouth.
The black mist spread instantly. It wasn't just poison; it was Anti-Ethernano.
Fried, Bickslow, Evergreen, and Yajima collapsed instantly. Their skin turned dark, their veins bulging. They gasped for air, clutching their throats.
"It... attacks... the magic..." Fried wheezed, blood trickling from his nose.
Laxus stood in the center of the cloud. He felt it too. His lungs burned. His magic felt like it was being strangled.
"Cowardly bastard," Laxus gritted out.
He looked at his friends. They were dying. The town below was just a few miles away. The wind would carry this cloud down to the civilians.
Laxus made a choice.
He took a deep breath.
"Laxus... no..." Bickslow gargled.
Laxus opened his mouth wide.
"Dragon Slayer Secret Art..."
He inhaled.
He sucked the black mist into his lungs. All of it. The poison, the curse, the death.
He acted as a vacuum, drawing the Magical Barrier Particles into his own body to spare his family and the town.
His body seized up. His skin turned a sickly shade of grey. He fell to his knees, coughing up black blood.
"Laxus!" Fried tried to crawl toward him.
Laxus looked up, his vision blurring. He forced a grin.
"Fried... Get the old man... and the others... home."
"And look after my family."
Then, the Lightning Dragon collapsed.
---
The atmosphere in the Fairy Tail infirmary was heavy with the metallic tang of ozone and the sickly, sweet scent of decay. The usual rowdiness of the guild had been replaced by a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight.
Laxus, Fried, Bickslow, Evergreen, and Yajima were laid out on the white-sheeted beds. They looked less like the formidable warriors they were and more like hollow shells. Their skin was a mottled, bruised black, and the veins in their necks stood out like ink-stained ropes.
But it was Laxus who looked the worst.
Having inhaled the lion's share of the Magical Barrier Particles to save the others, his body was the primary battleground for the toxin. His breathing wasn't just shallow; it was a wet, rattling struggle, each gasp sounding like he was inhaling broken glass.
Blake stood by the bed, his hand resting on Laxus's shoulder. He looked at the medical monitors, then turned his head.
"Brandish," Blake said, his voice unusually soft.
Brandish had been standing in the corner of the room. Usually, she carried herself with a sense of detached boredom, as if the world was a play she had seen too many times. But today, she looked small. Her hands were trembling, clutching at the hem of her coat.
When she heard Blake's voice, she stepped forward. Her eyes, usually sharp and analytical, were wide and glassy. She looked at Laxus—her husband, the man who had matched her apathy with his own stubborn strength, the father of their son—and she broke.
A single, jagged sob escaped her throat. She stumbled to the bedside, falling to her knees and grasping Laxus's massive, blackened hand with her own.
"Laxus..." she whispered, her voice cracking. "You idiot... you absolute, stubborn idiot."
The sight of the "Nation-Destroyer" Brandish crumbling into tears sent a shockwave of grief through the gathered mages. Lucy covered her mouth to stifle a cry, and even Gajeel looked away, unable to watch the raw agony on her face.
"Brandish," Blake said, kneeling beside her. He placed a steadying hand on her back. "I need you to focus. He's dying. The only reason his heart is still beating is because of his Dragon Slayer constitution, but it won't last. You are the only one who can buy him time."
Brandish looked up at Blake, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "I... I can't... my hands won't stop shaking."
"Yes, you can," Blake said, his voice turning firm, anchoring her. "Think of Arthur. Think of the life you two built. Don't let this demon take him from you. Shrink the poison, Brandish. Shrink it until his body can fight back."
Brandish took a shuddering breath. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of dampness. She looked back at Laxus, seeing the black veins creeping toward his heart. A cold, protective rage began to simmer beneath her grief.
She stood up, her aura flaring. It was the desperate, focused power of a wife fighting for her husband's soul.
She extended both hands over Laxus's chest.
"Command T..."
Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a command to the very atoms of the universe.
"...Shrink."
A soft, emerald glow enveloped Laxus. Inside his lungs, the roiling clouds of Magical Barrier Particles—vast enough to wipe out a city—began to collapse. Under the absolute authority of Brandish's magic, the lethal toxins were compressed, forced down from mountain-sized threats to the size of microscopic dust motes.
The rattling in Laxus's chest stopped instantly. The blackness on his skin didn't vanish, but it stopped spreading, retreating from his neck and face back toward his torso. His breathing leveled out, becoming deep and rhythmic.
Brandish didn't stop there. She moved down the line to Fried, Bickslow, Evergreen, and Yajima, her face set in a mask of tear-streaked determination. She shrank the poison in each of them, her movements precise and relentless.
When she finished, she swayed, her magic reserves taxed by the emotional and physical strain. Blake caught her before she could fall.
"He's stable," Blake said, checking Laxus's pulse. "The poison is still there, but it's too small to kill him now. He'll be in a coma while his body filters it out, but he's going to live."
Brandish slumped against Blake, her head resting on his shoulder as the adrenaline faded, leaving only the exhaustion of a survivor. She looked at Laxus, who now looked like he was merely sleeping, and more tears fell—this time, of relief.
"I'm going to kill that demon," Brandish whispered, her voice cold enough to freeze the air. "I'm going to shrink him until I can crush him under my heel like the bug he is."
"You saved them," Makarov whispered, slumping against the wall.
"The town wasn't so lucky," Mavis Vermillion, the First Master, appeared near the bed, her expression was one of sorrow.
"Before Laxus inhaled the cloud... some drifted down. The town of 8-Island is under quarantine. Over one hundred civilians have died from acute magic deficiency."
The number hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
One hundred dead. Laxus incapacitated. The Thunder Legion down. The Council gone.
"Those bastards..."
The heat in the room spiked.
Natsu Dragneel stood by the door. His hair was shadowing his eyes. Smoke was pouring from his mouth, setting the doorframe on fire.
"THEY HURT THEM!"
Natsu spun around and punched the wall. The entire guild hall shook.
"I'M GOING TO KILL THEM! WHERE ARE THEY?! I'LL BURN THEM ALL TO ASH!"
"Natsu, stop!" Lucy cried out, though she was crying too.
"I WON'T STOP!" Natsu roared, flames engulfing his body. "THEY TOOK LAXUS! THEY KILLED GRANDPA'S FRIENDS! WE GO TO WAR RIGHT NOW!"
"AND GO WHERE, YOU IDIOT?!"
Blake's voice cut through the rage. He grabbed Natsu by the back of his scarf and slammed him into a pillar.
Natsu struggled, clawing at Blake's arm. "LET GO! I'LL FIND THEM!"
"You'll find nothing but air," Blake snarled, holding Natsu pinned. "Their base is flying. It's invisible. If you run out there screaming, you're just wasting energy."
Blake pointed at the bed where Laxus lay unconscious.
"Look at him. Laxus is down. If you run in blind and get taken out by another trap, who protects the rest of the family? Use your head, not just your gut."
Natsu stopped struggling. He looked at Laxus. He looked at the tears in Mirajane's eyes. He slumped, the fire dying out.
"Damn it..." Natsu slid down the pillar. "Damn it all..."
---
Deep within the Cube, screams echoed through the laboratory.
Kyôka stood before a glass tube. Inside, suspended in a green liquid, was Minerva Orland.
The former Sabertooth mage was unrecognizable. Her skin was turning dark red, horns were sprouting from her head, and her magical signature was being twisted into something demonic.
"She is taking the demon seed well," Franmalth observed, checking his meters. "Much better than Doriate. Her hatred is a potent fuel."
"She wanted power," Kyôka smiled, placing a hand on the glass. "So we are giving it to her. She will be reborn as a neo-demon. A soldier for Zeref."
Minerva's eyes snapped open inside the tank. They were no longer human. They were yellow, slit-pupiled, and filled with madness.
"Soon," Kyôka purred. "She will be ready to hunt her old friends."
---
Night had fallen over Magnolia, but no lights were on in the guild hall. They were operating in low light, treating the situation like a siege.
Makarov, Erza, Blake, Natsu, Gray, and Gajeel gathered around a map of Fiore.
"We are blind," Erza admitted, her voice tight. "We don't know where their base is. We don't know their numbers. We only know their objective."
"Face," Blake said, circling the word written on the map. "They want to wipe out magic. To do that, they need to activate the Face bombs. But the activation codes are linked to the Magic Council."
"But the Council is dead," Gray pointed out.
"The active Council is dead," a smooth voice came from the shadows.
Loke, the celestial spirit Leo, materialized in the room. He adjusted his glasses, looking unusually serious.
"I did some digging in the Spirit World's archives. And... well, I may have dated the granddaughter of a former councilor a few years back."
"Loke?" Lucy blinked. "Now isn't the time for your dating history."
"It is," Loke insisted. "Because she told me that the codes for ultimate weapons like Face aren't held by the current Chairman alone. They are split via Organic Link Magic. They are held by former council members. Retired ones."
Makarov's eyes widened. "Of course... The failsafe. If the headquarters is destroyed, the codes transfer to the living reserves."
"Which means," Blake realized, "Tartaros isn't done killing councilors. They are hunting down the retired ones to extract the codes."
"We have to get to them first," Natsu said, standing up. "We have to protect them."
Loke produced a piece of paper. "I have four locations. Four former council members whose addresses were in the old archives."
"Michello, Yuri, Crawford, and Org..." Loke paused. "Org is already confirmed dead. That leaves three leads."
"We split up," Erza commanded immediately. "Natsu, Lucy, Wendy—you take Michello. Gray, Juvia—you take Yuri. Elfman, Lisanna—go to Crawford's last known location. Mira, protect the guild. Gajeel, Levy—search for the others."
"What about me?" Blake asked.
"You," Makarov looked at the strongest fighter in the room. "You are the reserve. If any team encounters a Demon Gate they cannot handle... you go. You are the ace in the hole. Stay mobile. Monitor the communications."
Blake nodded. "Understood. I'll be the Reaper on standby."
---
The teams gathered at the guild entrance. The weight of the mission pressed down on them. This wasn't a tournament. This wasn't a quest for money. This was a war for survival.
Mavis Vermillion floated above them. Her spectral form glowed in the darkness.
"My children," Mavis began, her voice soft but carrying the weight of a century.
"The enemy seeks to bring despair. They seek to erase the very magic that connects our hearts. They believe that fear will break us."
She looked at Natsu, whose fists were clenched. She looked at Gray, who was holding Juvia's hand. She looked at Blake, who was checking his sword.
"But they do not know Fairy Tail. We do not break in the face of despair. We burn brighter! We fight for those who cannot fight! We fight for Laxus! We fight for the future!"
Mavis raised her hand.
"Go! Protect the Councilors! Find the enemy! And show them that the light of fairies never fades!"
"YEAH!" The guild roared as one.
Natsu slammed his fists together, sparks flying.
"I'm all fired up. Tartaros... I'm coming for you."
The teams scattered into the night, racing against time, unaware that the gates of Hell were already opening wide to swallow them whole.